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miss it,” he muttered. “But, Mom, listen. I really don’t need any help finding a girlfriend.”

      “Well, of course you don’t, but opportunity is everything. And you’re always off on some oil rig somewhere. How many women are you going to meet on an oil rig?”

      “Mom, I—”

      She didn’t even let him finish his sentence. “It’s been years. You have to move on. You know that.” She spoke gently.

      “I have moved on.”

      She sighed. And then she said briskly, “Well, it never hurts to meet new people. And, you know, I’ve recently been acting as a docent—twice a month at the Alamo. It just so happens that I met a lovely young woman there, also a docent, Ashley McFadden. I know you and Ashley would hit it off so well. She’s perfect. Great personality. So smart. So funny.”

      Travis winced and sent a desperate glance around the lounge. He could a use a little help about now. He needed someone to rescue him from his own mom.

      But rescue was not forthcoming. He was alone with a wide, dark flat-screen TV, a row of snack and drink machines, random sofas and chairs and a matched pair of ping-pong tables. Across the room, a couple of roughnecks were Wii bowling on the other TV. Neither of them even glanced his way.

      Faintly all around him, he could hear pounding and mechanical noises and the mostly incomprehensible babbling from the PA system, sounds that were part of life on the Deepwater Venture, a semi-submersible oil platform fifty-seven miles off the coast of Texas.

      His mother chattered on, naming off more charming young women she knew, more of the still single daughters of her endless list of women friends. He was starting to think he would just have to back out of the Thanksgiving visit, to tell her he wasn’t going to be able to make it home after all.

      Sorry, Mom. Something big has come up, something really big. I just can’t be there….

      But then he heard swearing. And the swift pounding of heavy boots on the stairs. The sounds were coming closer, descending on him from the deck above.

      He knew the voice: Sam Jaworski, the rig manager in charge of the drilling department—aka the tool pusher. Sam was one of eight women on the rig. The safety officer was also a woman. And the rest worked in food service or housekeeping.

      Sam, in coveralls, safety glasses and a hard hat, stomped into the lounge at full volume. She was on a roll with nonstop, semi-dirty, surprisingly imaginative language.

      His mother was still talking. “So you see, I have found several fun, smart, attractive girls you’ll get a chance to meet.”

      Sam sent him a quick acknowledging glance. He raised a hand in greeting. She gave the roughnecks a wave and then clomped over to the coffee machine. She poured herself a cup. There was a patch sewn on the right butt cheek of her coveralls. It read I Ain’t Yo’ Mama. She had to stop swearing to take a big swig of coffee.

      But as soon as she swallowed, she was at it again. “And then dunk his sorry, skinny ass in a burnin’ barrel of bubbling black crude…”

      Travis grinned for the first time since he’d picked up the phone to call his mom. Sam’s swearing was always more enthusiastic than obscene. And it never failed to make him smile.

      And then he said, without even stopping to consider the possible consequences, “Mom, I already have a girl.” He held back a chuckle. Well, sort of a girl.

      Sam took off her hard hat and safety glasses, turned toward him and propped a hip against the counter. She slurped up a big sip of coffee—and swore some more.

      On the other end of the line, his mom let out a delighted trill of laughter. “Travis, how wonderful. Why didn’t you say so?”

      “Well, Mom, you haven’t exactly let me get a word in edgewise.”

      “Oh, honey.” She was instantly regretful. “I’m sorry. I was just so glad to hear from you. And I wanted to… Well, it doesn’t matter now. Forgive me for being a poor listener?”

      “You know I do.”

      She asked eagerly, “What’s her name? Do I know her?”

      More choice expletives from Sam. He turned to the wall, cupped his hand around the mouthpiece of the phone, and told his mother, “Samantha, Mom. Samantha Jaworski—and no, you don’t.”

      His mother made a thoughtful sound. “But you’ve mentioned her often, haven’t you, over the years?”

      “Yeah, Mom. I’ve mentioned her.” He’d known Sam for more than a decade now.

      “And she’s nice, isn’t she? You two have been friends for a long time, as I recall.”

      “Yeah, we have. And she’s…she’s lovely.” He slanted a glance at Sam as she sniffed and rubbed her nose with the back of her grease-smeared hand. “Very delicate.”

      Sam stood six feet tall and she was stronger than most men. She had to be, to get where she’d gotten in the oil business. Most tool pushers were older than she was. And male.

      On a rig, the buck stopped at the tool pusher. Sam was on the drilling-contractor payroll. She did everything from making sure work schedules were met to setting up machines and equipment. She prepared production reports. She recommended hirings and firings and decided who was ready for promotion. She supervised and she coordinated. She trained workers in their duties and in safety procedures. She requisitioned materials and supplies. And if it came right down to it, she could haul and connect pipe with the best of them.

      On this job, Travis had had the pleasure of working closely with her. He was the company man, paid to represent the interests of the oil company South Texas Oil Industries. Some pushers didn’t get along with the company man. They didn’t like being answerable to the exploration and operation end of the business. Sam didn’t have that problem. She not only had her men’s respect, but she also worked well with others.

      She was an amazing woman, Sam Jaworski. But delicate?

      Not in the least.

      “I get it now,” his mother said. “I’ve been chattering away and the whole time you’ve been trying to tell me that you’re bringing her to Thanksgiving, to the reaffirmation of our vows.”

      Crap. He should have seen that coming. Suddenly, his little private joke took on scary ramifications. “Uh, well…”

      “Honey, I understand how it’s been for you.” She didn’t, not really. But he knew she meant well. She kept on, “You’ve been…hurt and let down before. I can see where you might be afraid to let it get serious with Samantha. But that’s all right. Just ask her to come with you. Just take that step.”

      “Well, I…” He stalled some more, grasping for the right words, the magic words that would get his mother off his back about this once and for all. Those words didn’t come. “Mom, really, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

      “Why not?”

      “I just don’t, okay?”

      His mom finally gave it up. “All right, if you don’t want to invite her, if your relationship hasn’t gotten to that point yet, well, all right.” She sighed. And then she brightened and teased, “At least Cybil and LouJo and Ashley will be happy to know they still have a chance.”

      Trapped. His gut churned and his pulse pounded. And then he heard himself say, “As a matter of fact, Sam and I are engaged.”

      It just kind of popped out. He blinked at the wall. Had he really said that?

      His mother cried out in joy. “Travis, how wonderful! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me until now.”

      Had Sam heard him say that? He sent the tall, broad-shouldered woman in the grease-streaked coveralls another furtive glance. Uh-uh. She’d turned back to the sink to wash her hands. As he faced the wall once

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